Muck
06-13-16, 07:48 PM
While most trading companies dealt in leather and steel, or or precious metals and gems, Harrison & Cromwell peddled flesh in the strange and bizarre. They found some of their customers in the extravagantly wealthy, seeking lavish, strange pets, but the vast majority of their clientele came from the patrons and matrons of the Citadel. In a pinch of time and an abundance of blood lust, a warrior or the like could purchase a hulking or sly beast to battle in place of another warrior of the like. So, Harrison & Cromwell had set up shop with their train or ornate, shining metal cages in the closest market to Althanas' most celebrated charnel house on a cool, but sunny afternoon.
Tawny sunlight shone on the faces of the onlookers and customers alike as they weaved and pushed amongst each other, boot and sandle scraping and shuffling over white cut stone. A good many of them treated the caravan like a visiting zoo, marveling at groaning bark-skinned swamp walkers from Dheathain, creaking clockwork constructs from Alerar, and panting, thick furred beasts from the snows of Salvar. The others, standing in gleaming armor and velvet robes praised the possibilities of sinuous dune crawlers from Fallien with sand still clinging to their desiccated skin, and shivering, living crimson plants from the Lindequalmë.
Through the dull roar of the crowd walked an Ai'brone monk, sunlight rippling off the brands that cut intricate, eldritch designs upon his shaved scalp. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his dull orange robe, a copper colored belt cinching it tightly to his slender waist, a faint smile on his scarred lips. His gait was untamed water, moving effortlessly between child and knight alike. He paused at the bars of bronze cage, which contained a massive insect monstrosity, armored in pitch dark emerald-green chitin, it's many sharp limbs scissoring against each other, like a fat man's fingers tented against another in consideration of a vast buffet. A drunk man stumbled too close and it's proboscis, long and thin as any spear darted through the bars and bit into his skull. His glazed eyes flipped up in his head like a shutter being pulled against nagging morning sunbeams, and within a breath's time, the huge insect pulled back. His skull hit the stone with a hollow thunk, and a salesman wearing only a violet vest, slacks, and two foot tall top hat brimming with brilliantly colored feathers in it's band threw a few gold pieces into the crowd for condolence,
"Do you have anything bipedal?" The salesman cocked his head at the monk, the feathers in his hat creating a rainbow aura around his head in the beams of light, before he cocked a finger and a crooked grin downward, and lunged over three more cages before stopping on top of one forged of pitted black iron. The bars shook as the merrow threw itself again and again at the cage, howling and hissing. The monk stroked his chin, his phantom smile growing at the sight of the massive amphibious beast, its sapphire scales shining dryly in the brisk summer wind.
"It could make an interesting bout for any aspiring bestiarius. The Citadel will take it."
_____
Grensch found sudden, jarring awareness fill his simple mind as he felt cold, beautiful water splash over his rough skin, fully willing himself to ignore the brief, dizzying drop and hard, painful impact. With a gasp, the merrow scooped greedy, webbed handfuls of it on his face, making soft hissing noises as he flared his cranial fins, encouraging every drop to drive away the murderous thirst from his hide. Next, he lifted more handfuls onto his chest, his arms, his legs, until he was digging into soft, sticky mud. He could remember distantly a job, a river, some sneering humans and a net, but beyond that, everything was an arid, torturous blur underneath the constant torment of a baking sun. Treachery certainly, a knife in his back, but it was nothing new, in his line of work.
Invigorated by his beggar's bath, the merrow climbed to his fins and quickly slapped at his heavily muscled body. The steel shoulder guard was still strapped to his right shoulder; Snag and Gnash slept in their holsters, the elf-skin on their hilts rasping quietly at his touch. His chain was looped loosely about his waist, his water bladder hung from his left hip. Satisfied that he'd not been violated totally, Grensch cast his oily black eyes around the chamber, knowing dully in the back of his mind that he was in the Citadel, but not why. Titanic spires of gold and emerald stone jutted to the dark sky all around him, and their sharp right angles and crisp points reminded him of ice, but touching the surface of one, six times the size of a man, he knew it was only crystal. They glowed internally with a strange and unidentifiable light, lighting up the cavern in an aureous and beryl glow. He stood in a rough clearing of the massive stalagmites, perhaps twenty by thirty feet in size, its floor made of some strange white sand, dotted with a handful of clear puddles, the closest of which he had poured all over himself.
"LET GRENSCH FREE!" The merrow bellowed, throwing his arms out to the side, head to the tall ceiling.
Tawny sunlight shone on the faces of the onlookers and customers alike as they weaved and pushed amongst each other, boot and sandle scraping and shuffling over white cut stone. A good many of them treated the caravan like a visiting zoo, marveling at groaning bark-skinned swamp walkers from Dheathain, creaking clockwork constructs from Alerar, and panting, thick furred beasts from the snows of Salvar. The others, standing in gleaming armor and velvet robes praised the possibilities of sinuous dune crawlers from Fallien with sand still clinging to their desiccated skin, and shivering, living crimson plants from the Lindequalmë.
Through the dull roar of the crowd walked an Ai'brone monk, sunlight rippling off the brands that cut intricate, eldritch designs upon his shaved scalp. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his dull orange robe, a copper colored belt cinching it tightly to his slender waist, a faint smile on his scarred lips. His gait was untamed water, moving effortlessly between child and knight alike. He paused at the bars of bronze cage, which contained a massive insect monstrosity, armored in pitch dark emerald-green chitin, it's many sharp limbs scissoring against each other, like a fat man's fingers tented against another in consideration of a vast buffet. A drunk man stumbled too close and it's proboscis, long and thin as any spear darted through the bars and bit into his skull. His glazed eyes flipped up in his head like a shutter being pulled against nagging morning sunbeams, and within a breath's time, the huge insect pulled back. His skull hit the stone with a hollow thunk, and a salesman wearing only a violet vest, slacks, and two foot tall top hat brimming with brilliantly colored feathers in it's band threw a few gold pieces into the crowd for condolence,
"Do you have anything bipedal?" The salesman cocked his head at the monk, the feathers in his hat creating a rainbow aura around his head in the beams of light, before he cocked a finger and a crooked grin downward, and lunged over three more cages before stopping on top of one forged of pitted black iron. The bars shook as the merrow threw itself again and again at the cage, howling and hissing. The monk stroked his chin, his phantom smile growing at the sight of the massive amphibious beast, its sapphire scales shining dryly in the brisk summer wind.
"It could make an interesting bout for any aspiring bestiarius. The Citadel will take it."
_____
Grensch found sudden, jarring awareness fill his simple mind as he felt cold, beautiful water splash over his rough skin, fully willing himself to ignore the brief, dizzying drop and hard, painful impact. With a gasp, the merrow scooped greedy, webbed handfuls of it on his face, making soft hissing noises as he flared his cranial fins, encouraging every drop to drive away the murderous thirst from his hide. Next, he lifted more handfuls onto his chest, his arms, his legs, until he was digging into soft, sticky mud. He could remember distantly a job, a river, some sneering humans and a net, but beyond that, everything was an arid, torturous blur underneath the constant torment of a baking sun. Treachery certainly, a knife in his back, but it was nothing new, in his line of work.
Invigorated by his beggar's bath, the merrow climbed to his fins and quickly slapped at his heavily muscled body. The steel shoulder guard was still strapped to his right shoulder; Snag and Gnash slept in their holsters, the elf-skin on their hilts rasping quietly at his touch. His chain was looped loosely about his waist, his water bladder hung from his left hip. Satisfied that he'd not been violated totally, Grensch cast his oily black eyes around the chamber, knowing dully in the back of his mind that he was in the Citadel, but not why. Titanic spires of gold and emerald stone jutted to the dark sky all around him, and their sharp right angles and crisp points reminded him of ice, but touching the surface of one, six times the size of a man, he knew it was only crystal. They glowed internally with a strange and unidentifiable light, lighting up the cavern in an aureous and beryl glow. He stood in a rough clearing of the massive stalagmites, perhaps twenty by thirty feet in size, its floor made of some strange white sand, dotted with a handful of clear puddles, the closest of which he had poured all over himself.
"LET GRENSCH FREE!" The merrow bellowed, throwing his arms out to the side, head to the tall ceiling.